


The Blue Rose of Highgarden

by bottomlessblue



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Domesticity, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Nobody is Dead, Post-War of the Five Kings, So Renly won the war, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, and Cersei is dead, and Robb is king of the north, and Stannis is dead I guess, big fluff, but they're Lannisters so they don't count as people, by marrying Sansa and Loras, high-fiving in the hallway, nobody I like is dead, they need to secure their alliance, wait Joffrey is dead, yeah this is that but longer, you know that tumblr post where Margaery and Loras switch bedrooms at night
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 20:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18483397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottomlessblue/pseuds/bottomlessblue
Summary: Renly Baratheon won the War of Five Kings, thanks in no small part to his queen, Margaery. Robb Stark is now the king of the independent Northlands. To secure their uneasy alliance, they arrange a marriage between Princess Sansa Stark and Ser Loras Tyrell. Sansa's romantic ideals have been shattered by the cruel Joffrey. Can Loras - and Margaery - help rebuild them?





	1. Betrothal

A gentle tapping came at Sansa’s door, the brisk pattern she recognized as Robb’s knock. Ever since she had been returned to Winterfell after her ordeal in King’s Landing, she had spent much of her time in her room, unable to stand the pitying looks of those who had heard what she had been through, had heard about the atrocities committed by the Lannisters. When Robb himself had stormed the castle to rescue her, King Renly’s forces in tow, she had thought that things would go back to the way they were. She should have known they never could.

  
She stood from the chair where she did her embroidery, setting down the lavender chemise that she had been adorning with a pattern of silvery leaves. “Come in,” she called, smoothing her skirts nervously. Robb was King of the North now, and as much as she knew he cared about her, she knew he couldn’t spare too much time from his duties. Most of her company had come from Catelyn, Talisa, and the other women who were coming to comprise the growing royal court of Winterfell.

  
Robb stepped in, accompanied by an unexpected guest - Margaery Baratheon, the Queen of the Six Kingdoms. Sansa curtsied deeply, as befit a king and queen of neighboring kingdoms.

  
Margaery stepped forward to embrace Sansa; they had not seen each other since before the battle that declared Renly the winner of the War of Five Kings, which in turn had made Margaery queen. “Please, there’s no need to be so formal with me, Sansa,” she said, kissing the other girl’s cheek. “I don’t want rank to change our friendship.” A tingle of warmth ran across Sansa’s face.

  
Robb pulled out two chairs at the small table, seeing both women seated before pulling out a chair for himself.

  
“You haven’t come all this way to exchange pleasantries,” Sansa hazarded, more as a statement than a question. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, of course, but I have a feeling this is more than a social visit.”

  
Margaery laughed, her beautiful laugh that chimed like a bell; Robb smiled too but ducked his head to unsuccessfully try and hide it. “You’ve grown too astute in your time at King’s Landing, sister,” he said.

  
He instantly realized that he had said the wrong thing, as a pall of cold silence fell over the room. “I had to,” Sansa said softly, looking down at her folded hands in her lap.  
All three of them were quiet for a moment before Robb apologized. Sansa shook her hair out of her eyes and looked up again, an expression of determined brightness fixed to her face. “So what is it that brings you, again?”

  
Margaery and Robb exchanged a foreboding look. “The alliance between our kingdoms is uneasy and will be for some time,” Margaery began. “People need time to adjust to the Six Kingdoms of Westeros, and the independent North.”

  
“Traditionally, these alliances would be sealed with a marriage, but little Ned is too young to be betrothed,” Robb added, referring to his young son with Talisa, the Prince of the Northlands.

  
“And Renly, sadly, has no living relatives, or at least none that are close enough to be of any... strategic value,” Margaery continued, her tone indeed sad, though avoiding alluding to the fact that Stannis had died on the field of battle against Renly, brother against brother.

  
“I know you would not wish to marry so soon after... what happened,” Robb finished lamely, narrowly avoiding Joffrey’s accursed name. Sansa’s hands clutched at her skirts, knuckles white.

  
“Who is it to be?” Sansa asked him, looking her brother directly in the eye. “Please, just tell me.”

  
“Ser Loras Tyrell,” Robb said. “Queen Margaery’s brother.”

  
Sansa recoiled in shock, though not an unpleasant one. Ser Loras? The Knight of the Flowers? She thought back to the day he’d given her a rose at a tourney in King’s Landing, one of her few bright memories of the terrible city.

  
Before she could find words, Robb continued, “I need you to know that I won’t do this without your agreement. The alliance is fragile, but not so fragile that I would use you against your will.” He reached out a hand to hold one of hers, which Sansa gratefully accepted.

  
“He is a kind man,” Margaery added gently. “He is honorable and would do right by you.” How tragic, Sansa couldn’t help but think, that her highest hopes for a husband would be that he wouldn’t abuse her. She supposed that no one could promise love, but perhaps a promise of kindness was enough.

  
A horrible thought occurred to her. “Would I... would I have to return to live in King’s Landing?” she asked, hating the tremor in her voice.

  
Robb shook his head. “As Ser Loras is the heir to The Reach, you would spend most of your time at Highgarden. You may have to spend some time in King’s Landing, but it wouldn’t need to be much.”

  
Highgarden. Sansa bit her lip. Highgarden, the land of beauty and chivalry and romance, where flowers bloomed on every surface and poets sang songs of love all day. She had thought of it often during her imprisonment in the Red Keep, a kind of idyllic dream that kept her strength alive.

  
“Has Ser Loras already been approached?” she asked. Perhaps he wouldn’t want her, even if she agreed. Perhaps no one would want the discarded betrothed of the disgraced former king.

  
“He has,” Margaery confirmed. “He is willing to enter into this betrothal if you are.”

  
Sansa inhaled deeply, squeezing Robb’s hand. “Then I accept.”

  
Robb squeezed back, clearly grateful. “You will always be a Princess of the North. Winterfell will always be your home.” Sansa was suddenly overcome with emotion; her vision blurred slightly as her eyes filled with tears. She forced them back; this was not like before. Ser Loras was honorable, Margaery had said so and she trusted Margaery.

  
Queen Margaery stood; both Robb and Sansa followed suit. She inclined her head slightly before striding out of the room, her gown swishing softly along the stone floor. When she had left, Robb swept Sansa up in an embrace, holding her tightly.

  
Now Sansa’s eyes overflowed with tears as the reality of it hit her. “Do I have to leave so soon?” she asked, words muffled by the furs of Robb’s collar.

  
He stroked her hair gently. “It won’t be right away. These things take time, you know that.”

  
“I never wanted to leave Winterfell again. It’s the last place I felt safe,” she wept.

  
“I know,” he said soothingly. “And I mean it when I say this will always be your home. But I know that in time, Highgarden will feel like home to you too.”

  
They stayed there, Robb holding Sansa until she was able to dry her tears. When he left, Sansa sat on the edge of her bed, running her fingers over the brocade pattern.

\---

The next evening, Ser Loras joined them for dinner, a matter of state with King Robb, Queen Talisa, Queen Margaery, Princess Sansa, and Lady Catelyn. No one had quite figured out what Catelyn’s official title should be - she was no longer the Lady of Winterfell but she herself had rejected the title of Princess, so “Lady” she remained. King Renly was in King’s Landing; his position was not yet secure enough to permit him to travel to the Northern kingdom so Margaery had come alone.

  
Loras arrived after Sansa and bowed deeply to all parties when he arrived. He was seated across from her, which gave her the opportunity to watch him during dinner. They had met before, at events in King’s Landing, but it all seemed so long ago now. She noted now that he had a quick smile and an easy laugh, he seemed all light and grace, none of the darkness that had consumed Joffrey. Then again, Joffrey had seemed like a fairy tale prince at first too.

  
They dined on roast quail, a fine feast for the North that Sansa knew must have seemed too simple compared to the finer fare of King’s Landing and Highgarden. She herself ate little, too preoccupied with thoughts of her soon-to-be husband sitting across from her. He watched her as well; their eyes met and held for too long, before Sansa flushed and looked away. They could say nothing yet, not while Margaery and Robb discussed matters of state.

  
Catelyn retired soon after dinner; she had been ill only recently and still tired quickly, though she assured her children that she felt fine. Talisa left not long after, wishing to check in on Prince Eddard. This was not unusual; she was a far more attentive mother than most Queens, not willing to surrender her son’s rearing to nursemaids and attendants.

  
Sansa could feel tension mounting in the room when only herself, Loras, Margaery, and Robb remained. Her heart was racing; the room felt far too warm in the normally chilled castle. She noticed that her hand shook when she reached for her glass; she set it down quickly before anyone else could notice.

  
Robb invited Margaery to the castle library, reminding her that she had wished to meet Maester Luwin during her visit. They hurried out of the room, leaving Sansa and Loras with only the attending servants.

  
The room was silent for only a moment. When the door closed, Loras stood from his seat and came to kneel before Sansa. Her face flushed red, she clutched at her skirts to keep her hands from shaking.

  
He did not seem at all nervous, she was able to note. He moved smoothly, confidently, but not... he kept a respectful distance, lowered to the floor when he kneeled. She remembered how Joffrey would loom over her and she shuddered involuntarily. Seeing this but not knowing its cause, Loras paused before speaking.

  
“My apologies if this is... unwelcome to you. Margaery told me that you had accepted the betrothal between us,” he said softly. His voice had a gentle lilt to it, which Sansa had never noticed before. “Perhaps this is too much after what you endured.”

  
Sansa forced herself to speak. “No, I... I was simply remembering. This is not unwelcome at all,” she said and realized only as she said it that it was the truth.

  
Loras’ smile shone like the sun. “I’m glad,” he began. “I’m glad that it’s to be you.” At this, Sansa’s eyes widened. Was this sprung on him as it was her? He certainly didn’t act like it. “I can’t wait to bring you to Highgarden.”

  
She smiled at his seemingly genuine enthusiasm. She stood and reached out a hand to raise him to his feet. He stood and kissed her hand, maintaining eye contact throughout. “I know that this may not be what you wanted, especially so soon. But I hope that we can make the best of it, and I hope that I can be a good husband to you.”

  
Sansa curtsied to him, the brush of her skirts the only sound in the room. “And I a good wife to you,” she said, hoping that he didn’t notice the quaver in her voice. Heat ran through her body; he was so beautiful, his manner so unlike Joffrey’s. Even when she had dreamed of marriage to Joffrey, she had never quite been able to convince herself that he cared about her wellbeing, or that he cared much at all about anything besides what they represented together.

  
“I should go,” Loras said. “We shouldn’t be alone together, I just... I wanted the chance to talk to you.” He bowed to her, then turned to leave through the door he had entered through. He turned and gave her a parting look as he rested one hand on the door. “Good night, Sansa.

  
“Good night, Loras,” she said, feeling strange already leaving off his title of address. Then he was gone, and she was alone in the hall, the faint scent of roses all that her future husband left in his wake.


	2. Wedding

Sansa stood in the still-unfamiliar dressing chamber of her rooms at Highgarden; her temporary rooms at any rate. After today, she’d be sharing rooms with Loras, a thought that filled her with dread and excitement. The maidservant was tying the laces of her wedding gown, cinching it tight to Sansa’s waist.

It was strange to look down and see herself in the colors of House Tyrell. The dress was made of an exceedingly fine green silk, certainly one of the finest garments Sansa had ever owned. She had to admit that the color complemented her hair, as she twisted and turned before the mirror to try and examine the full dress. The golden embroidery glimmered in the candlelight, delicate rose patterns climbing like vines up the skirt and bodice.

“You look beautiful,” Catelyn said from her seat against one wall, her voice catching in her throat. She came to stand behind her daughter, holding both of the girl’s shoulders. “I always hoped it would be like this,” she said, needing to give no further explanation.

Catelyn dismissed the maidservant and picked up the hairbrush from the vanity. “I’ll do your hair,” she said, beginning to run the brush through Sansa’s long red strands. “My mother did the same for me.” Sansa nodded wordlessly. “Are you afraid?”

Sansa touched the pendant at her neck, a gold and teal rose that Loras had given her. “Yes,” she finally answered. “I don’t... I don’t know what to expect.”

Catelyn nodded understandingly. “I can’t tell you how apprehensive I was before marrying your father.” Her voice strained slightly at the mention of the late Ned Stark, whose absence had been felt throughout the day. She paused momentarily in her brushstrokes, still holding Sansa’s hair in her hands. “Are you nervous about... tonight? Or something else?”

Sansa thought for a moment. “By the time I knew what to expect, I expected Joffrey to be cruel, I expected him to hurt me,” she explained slowly, turning around to face her mother. “I don’t think Loras will be cruel, but I don’t know what he’ll be like.” She stopped, unsure how to breach the subject. “I’ve heard so many rumors about him and... other men...”

Catelyn sighed. “Well, he wouldn’t be the first. But I wouldn’t worry about that too much. If he’s kind and gentle, that’s about as much as any girl can ask on her wedding night. The rest will come after.”

Sansa nodded, swallowing hard, and Catelyn resumed styling her hair. She tied it in a simple rose knot at the back of her head, leaving most of it down - Sansa had seen Margaery’s hair styled the same way a hundred times. When it was done, she stood before the mirror to get a full look. She almost didn’t recognize herself, in Tyrell colors, bedecked in roses, in a room completely foreign to the gray, pragmatic rooms of Winterfell.

“It’s almost time,” Catelyn said gently. “Lord Mace will be waiting outside.” They’d rehearsed this in the days prior. With Ned deceased and Robb doing his duties as King of the North, Lord Mace Tyrell had volunteered to walk Sansa down the aisle of the great sept. She was grateful; he had been nothing but kind to her, even in the viper’s nest that was King’s Landing.

Sansa steeled herself. “I’m ready,” she said. She didn’t know what to expect, but she knew that it would not be nearly as bad as it could have been, and in some ways that was enough. She had broken her own heart many times over in the past weeks, lamenting the business-like transaction that her betrothal had been, the impossibility of marrying for love. But today, in her wedding gown that any girl could only dream of, and her betrothed, the most desired knight in all the realms, all she could think of was that it wasn’t as bad as it could be. She shook the thought off, trying to fill herself with calm and gratitude.

Catelyn hugged her tightly, then opened the door. Mace Tyrell was indeed waiting outside; he startled slightly when the door opened abruptly. Sansa stepped forward and curtsied to him, he bowed deeply to her. He dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief and muttered, “I always get sentimental at weddings”. Sansa smiled; if nothing else, at least she knew her new family would be kind to her, which was more than she really ever could have hoped for before.

They set off down the hallway, snaking through the castle to the sept. Every window was open; the perfume of flowers wafted through the palace on a warm spring breeze. Sansa was surprised at how calm she felt, given all her nerves and apprehension leading up to this moment. They walked at a slow pace, her hand on Mace’s arm, and she tried to appreciate all the details she saw of Highgarden along the way - the artful engravings, the delicate marble statuary, the colorful frescoes that adorned the walls.

Finally, they came to the double doors of the great sept, all polished bronze that gleamed in the sunlight. Two men-at-arms stood at the entry, bowed deeply, and opened the door to them. The crowd assembled within stood and turned to stare as they entered, a hush falling over the room. Sansa barely noticed them, her field of vision narrowing to include only Loras, resplendent at the head of the room.

He stood at the altar to the Seven, the septon standing with him. He wore a green silk tunic and hose that matched the color of her dress, though she smiled to see that his curly hair was untamed, as though he had just gotten off a horse or fought a duel. He stood straight, with his hands clasped behind his back. His face broke into a radiant smile when they entered; his posture relaxed through his shoulders.

When they reached the altar, Mace kissed her cheek and whispered “Welcome to the family, Sansa. We are so grateful to have you.” She smiled a watery, teary smile at the kindness he showed her. He stepped back and she turned again to face Loras.

The ceremony itself felt strange to Sansa; it was a wedding of the Seven, not the old gods as she had been raised. It seemed lengthy and too stiff, more formal than was needed. But she stood and looked only at Loras, trying to convey the same apparent joy that he did. She tried to stop herself from looking out at the assembled crowd of unfamiliar faces. None of her family was there except Catelyn; the attendees were mostly the bannermen of the Tyrells and some Baratheons. Margaery and Renly, seated in the front row, gave her an encouraging smile, which she returned.

Her focus returned to the ceremony when the septon declared it time for them to share their first kiss as husband and wife. Loras stepped forward and gently placed one hand on her arm, the other wrapping around her waist; she felt flooded with heat as he pressed his lips to hers, she thought she might drown in the kiss. The room filled with cheers and they broke apart, though he kept one arm around her. She leaned slightly against him, feeling sheltered from the sudden noise and attention.

They proceeded out of the room with the septon, onwards to the banquet hall where a feast had been prepared to celebrate. Sansa tightly clasped Loras’ hand, all the way through the traditional toasts and the presentation of gifts, including a beautiful golden tiara from Mace and a diamond-encrusted goblet from the King and Queen.

As nervous as she had been, she found that she couldn’t stop smiling as she looked at him - her husband - and he positively glowed with warmth toward her. As the feast continued and the minstrels sang, she felt the nerves slowly setting back in, however. Her looks to Margaery for reassurance became more frequent, as did her sips from her wine glass. She ate lightly of the food prepared, as delicious as it was, and she felt like the heavy perfume of a thousand flowers was making her lightheaded.

Guests began to make their exits as the night wore on; the tradition of the first night had never caught on in the south the way it had in the north and the riverlands. They made their bows before Loras and Sansa, wishing them well, and left quietly, strolling through the famously stunning gardens on their way out.

When they reached the point that it was no longer rude for the wedded couple to take leave themselves, Loras stood from his chair and whispered to Sansa, “I need some fresh air before we return to the castle. Let’s take a walk.” She eagerly agreed, leaning on him slightly as she stood to keep her balance.

This was not her first leisurely stroll through the flowering rows, bubbling fountains, and neat hedges of the gardens here, indeed it had been one of the first places she’d wanted to go when they had arrived. But it felt altogether different tonight, the moon hanging full and bright in the sky, alone with her husband for the first time. They walked slowly, talking of innocuous things - the flowers in bloom, what their guests had worn - and by the time the returned to the walls of Highgarden, Sansa felt her head had cleared.

They made their way up to what was now their shared rooms - Sansa wasn’t certain, but she felt a hesitancy in Loras as well, not just in herself. When they entered, she paused, uncertain of what to do. She sat on the bed, the rose-embroidered bedding soft and plush beneath her, and began unpinning the rose knot in her hair. It allowed her to keep her head bowed, avoiding eye contact with Loras.

He sat beside her. “Let me help you,” he said gently, collecting the pins she had already discarded. His touch was delicate, one hand at the nape of her neck, the other brushing out the strands of her hair. When he was done, his hand moved to the knot holding close the stays of her bodice; she tensed slightly, which he must have felt.

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” he said. “I understand if it’s too much.” He looked away, setting the pins on the enameled table to the side of the bed. He poured himself another glass of wine from the glass carafe on the table, and downed it in one gulp. She wondered if he was as nervous as she was.

“No,” she said, her voice soft with a raspy undercurrent. “It’s not too much, I just... I’m sorry, I can’t seem to forget.”

“Would it be easier if you did this part yourself?” he ran a finger across the laces of the gown. She shook her head and turned once more to let him untie the laces. She shivered slightly as the gown slid from her shoulders, thin silk layers falling from her chest and leaving her exposed. He ran his hands up and down her back, caressing her neck and shoulders, erasing the tension that had accumulated there.

He poured himself some more wine, drank it again; Sansa glanced at the carafe in the periphery of her vision and she had to dispel the rumors from her mind once again. She took a deep breath and stood, letting the dress fall fully from her body. She took his hand and placed it on her breast; he looked to one side before looking up and asking her yet again, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she insisted, before laying herself down the silken sheets, pulling him with her. She stifled a small gasp of pain when he entered her, then let herself succumb to the pleasure of the feeling. It was over quickly; he cupped her face in his hand and asked if she was okay.

She nodded, though her legs felt shaky underneath her as she stood; she wasn’t sure if that was from this or just from tiredness. “Are you?” she asked, peeking at him through the curtain of hair that fell over her shoulder as she bent to put on a chemise that had been laid there for her by a servant.

He looked startled by the question, as though shocked that she had even thought to ask. “Yes,” he said quickly, “Yes.”

They returned to the bed, slightly awkward as they lifted the covers and tried to assume normal sleeping positions. They inched closer together until her back was pressed against his chest, his arm wrapped around her. The comforting weight and warmth helped lull Sansa to sleep, so soundly that she didn’t hear when he whispered a word of affection, muffled by her hair on the pillow.


End file.
